Hubris.

Great. Now that I have given voice to my anticipation of the meet this weekend, my shoulder says, "Oh, no you don't." It said this by standing up, yelling a little bit, and getting all enflamed at the point where three tendons come together. In case you're wondering, this also hurts, all the yelling and the standing up. It does not look like tendonitis--yet. I would like to keep it that way, thanks, having had a bout of tendonitis in my ankle that effectively ended my triathlon "career" (such as it was).

My massage therapist tells me that if I want to not stop swimming, I need to spend the rest of the time pretending I do not have a left arm. This is hard, it turns out. It precludes, just to name a few things: 1. talking on the phone while doing anything else; 2. typing without holding my keyboard in my lap; 3. putting on and taking off shirts. Are you getting the picture?

We are still going to the meet this weekend. I have already officially scratched the 1000 free (so much for achieving that goal this season), and the plan is to warm up for the p.m. session on Saturday and see how things feel. But I think that PP has a great meet ahead of him: he is poised to drop some serious time in his butterfly events, given big skill practice lately with that stroke. This time, after many meets where he has been my "handler," I may be the one holding his towel and glasses while he swims.

Sing it with me, "God is old, we're not old...."